


Fortune Favors the Bold

by TheDweeb



Series: FFXIVWrite2018 [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, Hyur (Final Fantasy XIV), I can't write Thieves Cant to save my fuckin life, Lalafell (Final Fantasy XIV), Roegadyn (Final Fantasy XIV), Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2018, Yo ho yo ho a rogue's life for me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 18:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18946360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDweeb/pseuds/TheDweeb
Summary: Melia Chambers could not believe this was happening to her. For Winny, however, it was all going according to plan.





	Fortune Favors the Bold

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 7 of FFXIVWrite2018

Rare were the people who enjoyed being the bearers of bad news. They existed sure enough, but most folk would rather cut off an arm than tell a granny her only child was dead or, in the case of one Melia Chambers, that she had witnessed a robbery in her master’s own home. The latter was not out of any kindness, and she would be the first to say so. No one else who worked in the mansion would blame her for the sentiment either. Especially not when she had been with them for less than six moons.

“P-please, Mister Water,” she sobbed. Her hands were bunched into the frills of her maid’s dress, fingers worrying the hem like a child who knew they were in trouble. “I-I really need, need this job. My gran-!”

“Calm down, Miss Chambers,” the old roegadyn said, his tone gentle and his hands raised in a soothing gesture. “I’m sure the master will understand. No one here expects you to have been able to do anything to a robber other than what you did. We have security for that, after all.”

Her lips wobbled into a small smile. She appreciated the gesture, she truly did, but both she and Keen Water, as well as the rest of the house staff, knew that Limani Tremani was not a forgiving master. Whoever worked for him knew that they were signing up for a hostile work environment, but work was work in a city that had little to give despite its wealth. That people did not end up dead under Tremani’s employ was a step above most and one of the main reasons people even bothered to seek employment in his mansion. That and the staff quarters were a fair sight more serviceable than others; with a bath provided and all since the master demanded a level of cleanliness that bordered on obsessive. But when someone failed at their tasks, or the master was in a mood, a new spot opened in the roster immediately.

Melia’s days were numbered, in minutes, and she well knew it by the way she followed behind the butler, Keen Water, with her head bowed and tears still streaming down her cheeks. She heard the whispers from the rest of the staff as they passed. That most were sympathetic did nothing to alleviate her upset. That some were callous in their disregard of her plight–”She should have known better than to say anything, honestly.”–was both disheartening and very much understandable. No one wanted to be in her black buckled shoes right now.

“Come now, dry your eyes,” Keen Water said, voice still kind but his eyes now sad as he handed her a kerchief from his breast pocket. He wanted to believe the best–he was quite fond of Miss Chambers and her cheer–but he knew better than anyone what would happen once he opened the door to Master Tremani’s study. “Back straight, chin up, and voice steady. I will be right there with you.”

Before her heart could warm at the reassurance it dropped to her stomach as he knocked on the door. She could feel herself getting ill when she heard the sharp ‘What is it?’ from inside. She almost fainted when the door was opened, but for Keen Water’s sake she stayed on her feet.

“Master Tremani, a problem has occurred.”

“Problem? What sort of problem?”

Though small in stature, like all lalafell, Limani Tremani made up for it with sheer presence. Lord Lolorito used a mask for intimidation and to keep a poker face while whispers of murder followed in the wake of one Teledji Adeledji. Lady Dewlala was powerful in her own right and as head of a religious order had no small modicum of control over the hearts of the populace. Master Tremani was somewhere between Teledji and Lolorito with dark whispers coming from the shadows that he quietly encouraged while also having a symbol of power in the form of an old Belah’dian heirloom brooch that he wore pinned to his breast at all times. He also had a glare strong as any basilisk which kept Melia pinned in place sure as any form of petrification.

“Miss Chambers here stumbled upon a robber mid-crime in the third floor parlor. She went to get help immediately, but by the time security arrived the robber was long gone.”

Keen Water’s tone was even, his expression neutral, and Melia opted to glance up at his face rather than watch Master Tremani’s face go from slack jawed surprise to pure and utter outrage.

“What? What was stolen? How did they get in?! You! Chambers!”

“Y-yes, Master Tremani?” she replied, back going straight as a rod.

“Why did you run off, you idiot girl?!” he snapped, his lip curled back over his teeth like an angry wolf. “Whatever was taken was worth more than your useless hide and it is your responsibility as an employee to ensure that none of my property leaves these premises!”

“Master Tremani, she is just a slip of a girl-” Keen Waters interjected and was summarily silenced with a glare so fierce it was a wonder he did not catch fire.

“When I am speaking to you, butler, I will address you,” he hissed, his voice low and threatening, before he turned back to Melia who looked ready to faint. “Now, answer me, girl.”

“M-Master, I am s-so sorry,” she said, her voice soft and her sobs barely restrained. “I-I was af-fraid, and I didn’t th-think he would be so fast. P-please, f-forgive me. I, I can’t lose this-”

“Thinking was your first mistake, you little tramp!”

Throwing himself from his chair, Master Tremani stormed toward the door, not even bothering to stop before yelling out his orders.

“Butler, gather security and meet me in the third floor parlor and tell that idiot maid to clear out and she will never work in this city again!”

For a man so big and solidly built, Keen Waters was a man defeated and by a tiny, snapping curr. It hurt Melia’s heart to see him so, but she could say nothing around the hiccuping sobs that refused to stop. Though she could barely see through the haze of tears, she felt two strong arms embrace her gently in apology before she was left alone. She would need to get her things. Should get her things. Instead, she fled from the room still sobbing, managed to fly down the stairs without tripping over her own feet, and then she was out the door and past the gate before the guards could even ask what was wrong. Served the bastard right, having to get rid of her things. Maybe Nanette would be the one to have to do it; they never got on well.

Her feet carried her through the monied streets to the main residential area, and it was not until she got to the poorer neighborhoods–not yet the slums, but near enough–that she slowed her steps. Without a care for her pristine white sleeves, she raised her arm and rubbed first at her eyes and then her nose. There was no sense in keeping the dress clean when Tremani made a promise like he had. Melia Chambers truly would never work in this town again.

Finally her steps slowed to a halt as she neared the mouth of a narrow alleyway. A deep breath, two, three, and she was fully calmed. With a quick look at her surroundings she found herself largely alone. There were a couple of young colts looking for easy pickings–she understood, she was a child once–but they already knew not to stick their fambles in her pockets if they wanted to keep them. Satisfied with her findings, she then turned to the alleyway and began to make her way down it until she got to the narrowest point. Once stopped, she then began to count stones, tapping each one as she went, until she found the exact one she was looking for.

“Rosy,” she cooed as she prized the stone free to find a beaten leather satchel stowed in the wall.

Without so much as a look around, she quickly divested herself of the maid’s uniform, putting it in place of the satchel. If someone happened to be moving her way, which was unlikely but still possible, she had no less than three stabbers ready to lick whatever ruffmans thought they could take advantage of her. It became a non issue when she put on a pair of slops and a stained but clean tunic before hopping into a comfortable pair of travel boots. Once changed, she took a bottle of powder from the satchel, took a deep breath, and then tossed the entire contents into her face.

“Ugh, not so rosy,” she coughed before gagging at the smell.

Emptying the canteen onto a clean cloth, both produced from the hidden satchel, she quickly scrubbed her face before breathing in deep once the powder cleared from the air. If she looked into something reflective she would see that he hair was no longer blond, her eyes no longer violet, and her skin was darker. Melia Chambers had officially been painted black and in her place was Winny Rolfe, brown haired, green eyed, and brown skinned, and the mysterious benefactor of the Ul’dahn slums. At least, she was.

She hummed a merry tune, one she had learned on her mother’s knee, as she put the stone back in place, leaving the uniform, shoes and all, for some other Jill or mot to use as she needed. Sure, there was some snot on the sleeves, but nothing a little elbow grease would not fix. The empty bottle and canteen were placed back into the satchel which was looped over her shoulder, the strap going across her chest, while the rag was tied to it. With her belongings situated she changed her hum to a whistle as she continued along the same direction she had been going before she stopped. It was finally time to dip into the well and see a shifter about shuffling some pearls before she took a stroll, to the Millhouse, maybe.

Exiting the alley into the busy streets, Winny kept pace with traffic and moved steady as any tub toward the markets. Her whistling had died with the whim of it, changing like the wind into actual words that were swallowed up by the sea of buyers and traders who would have no recollection of the words if the shifter blew the gab on her later.

“Oh, we’d be alright if the wind was in our sails,” she sang, “We’d be alright if the wind was in our sails. We’d be alright if the wind was in our sails. And we’ll all hang on behind…”

_And we’ll ro-o-oll the old chariot along!_

_We’ll ro-o-oll the old chariot along!_

_We’ll ro-o-oll the old chariot along!_

_And we’ll all hang on behind!_


End file.
